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Just because May is Bike Month, did I really have to say that I would bicycle to work every day and blog about it? Am I really that crazy … or desperate for attention?

It is not like I cut a heroic figure on a bicycle. I don’t own colorful, form-fitting cycling clothes, thank god. The form they would be fitting is verging on XXL. My bike is not a $5,125 job with a cool Italian or Japanese name. It is a refurbished Trek (rhymes with Shrek and looks about as ugly) that cost me $125.

Here's another thing: It’s not like I have calves of steel and an iron butt that can take a daily pounding on America’s Finest Potholed City streets. I've been back on a bicycle for less than a month.

Here’s one more: I hate wearing a helmet. Bicycle helmets are about the stupidest looking things on the face of this planet. My Bell PseudoCyborg looks pretty stupid. But I wear it. Mostly.

It never occurred to me that my editors would say “Riding a bike to work every day for a month? What a great idea, Bob. Let’s do it.”

But they did. So here we are.

Starting Monday, May 2, I plan to get up a little early – maybe a lot early in the beginning – and pedal the six or seven miles it takes to get to work.

You already know some of the minuses. Here are a few of the pluses:

I live in Point Loma, near Shelter Island, and my office is in Mission Valley. Not too strenuous a ride and relatively flat.

There is a locker room and shower in the building and a nice secure place to park the bike.

I have a little flexibility with my hours.

The car that I drive requires premium gasoline. So, in your face, Arco, 76, Shell and BP. Every mile on the bike is a buck you’ll never see. (The math is strictly hyperbole-based, but at $75-plus a tank I ought to save a small bundle.)

Oh,yes, there will be drama.

I have to pedal up and down Rosecrans Street with its often agitated and distracted drivers (Hey, I know. I’m one of them.) And how many times can I squeeze into Hotel Circle on Taylor Street where the Eternal Public Works Project has choked off any hint of spare road?

Do I have any wrinkle-free shirts and pants? Will my cubicle mates put up with Eu d’ Cyclist for very long? Can I really wear spandex around the office? Will I be too tired to write? Or too scared to bike?

So here’s what I am thinking: What the hell was I thinking?

This is it: I’m a really ordinary guy who has no idea what he is getting himself into. But I’m willing to try. And what if a few thousand other ordinary people are willing to try – or a few million around the country? Maybe we wouldn’t have to invade oil-producing countries under false pretenses, just to feed the beast. Maybe we wouldn’t have to spend billions on bigger highways. Maybe our kids wouldn’t have to suck up our dirty air. Maybe I’ll drop a few pounds and get a nice tan ...